


Clouded Judgement

by linndechir



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: When Ciri pretends to be his lover, Geralt thinks at first that it must be some kind of joke.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 78
Collections: Rare Pairs Exchange 2020





	Clouded Judgement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



As far as inns went, the Blue Griffon wasn’t all that bad. It was big enough that strangers didn’t get stared at as much as in smaller villages, it saw enough odd travellers that a witcher got some curious glances but no outright hostility, the ale was good, the food was better, and both the stable and the main room were clean enough that Geralt was optimistic about the bed he’d be sleeping in later.

Considering that the contract that had brought them here promised to be a lengthy affair and they might have to spend more than a night or two in this particular inn, Geralt found himself in surprisingly high spirits. The last months had gone quite well, they’d only been cheated out of their pay once, which meant their coin purses were reasonably full, and neither he nor Ciri had been seriously injured along the way. Their current destination had welcomed them with an openness Geralt wasn’t used to – he wasn’t sure if the elders and the villagers themselves were simply that desperate to have their monster problem solved, or if it was Ciri’s presence that made them a bit friendlier. For all that people had started calling her a witchress, they didn’t seem to have quite the same amount of hatred and suspicion for her than for Geralt and his kind.

And to make the situation even better, this particular inn had a very lovely waitress, who spent the evening trading jokes and banter with the customers as she carried around large trays of beer, and who’d had more than a few smiles for Geralt when she came by their table. Maybe she’d be amenable to a night in his, hopefully clean, bed. It had been a long time since an opportunity like that had presented itself, and he caught himself musing about the idea for a bit while Ciri was fetching them two more ales (as lovely as the waitress was, she was hopelessly overworked in the large, crowded inn, and waiting for her to bring drinks was oftentimes a matter of pure luck).

He’d just caught the waitress’s eye when Ciri slipped through the crowd, one large tankard in each hand, and then planted herself right in Geralt’s lap as if that was the most natural thing in the world.

“I know he’s a flirt, but I’m afraid you’re really wasting your time,” she said to the waitress with that bright smile that made it impossible to be mad at her, but there was a firm edge to her voice that once again reminded Geralt just how much Ciri had grown over the years they’d been apart. He was a little flattered when the waitress made a disappointed face, and then a little insulted when the expression disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and she she simply shrugged and said, “Maybe you should put your man on a leash if he roams too much, lass.”

And with that she was gone, and Geralt sat there utterly dumbfounded with Ciri still in his lap. She was heavier than he remembered, of course, not being a child anymore, and in the warmth of the inn her body felt far too hot against him. And instead of getting up, Ciri seemed to be making herself comfortable – nestled against his chest, her head on his shoulder, her soft hair brushing Geralt’s cheek.

“Ciri?” he asked when no explanation was forthcoming.

“Do I have to remind you what happened in Ferrington? The mayor’s daughter?” Ciri gave him a pointed look and then settled back against his shoulder. It was … comfortable, that was the problem. Geralt tried to shift away, but that really only made the pressure of her strong thighs on his lap worse. It had been a _very_ long time since he’d had some company, that was the only reason his mind was going where it was going right now.

“You slept with the mayor’s other daughter,” Geralt said, because in this particular case Ciri really didn’t have a high horse to sit on. She chuckled, her cheeks flushing at the memory, and she was so close that Geralt could almost feel the heat in them. It was a good look on her – he’d always liked to see her smile and laugh, carefree and without the burden of her legacy weighing her down, but this was more than that. Not something else entirely, because that fondness he felt for her was still there, more familiar than anything else he still felt, but usually it didn’t make him want to run his fingers through her hair and kiss her until that blush deepened.

“True, but I was discreet and _you_ were caught with your breeches down in her bed, so I’d say you were the reason we were ran out of town.” She laughed as if the whole thing had been nothing but a funny story to share with their friends the next time they met, and Geralt supposed to her it still was. They’d only been on the road together for a year – nothing compared to the decades Geralt had spent travelling alone. All the things that Geralt had long grown used to and tired of were still so new to her.

“At least that was after we got paid,” he said, as hard as it was becoming to focus on the actual conversation. He had to put his arm around her to get to his tankard, and he might have gulped down far too much of the ale at once to get his mind off the current situation. Of course this wasn’t the first time he’d noticed that Ciri had … grown up. That she certainly didn’t look anymore like that cheeky whirlwind of a little girl he’d brought with him to Kaer Morhen all those years ago. They’d been travelling together for long enough that they’d shared a room more than once, or a bedroll on cold nights under the open sky. They’d watched each other’s backs when one of them had bathed in a stream, patched up each other’s wounds with little concern for the clothes they had to take off for that. He would have had to be blind not to notice how beautiful she was. But it was _Ciri_. There weren’t a lot of rules that Geralt still believed in, but it couldn’t be right to think of her like this. 

And yet it was hard not to get distracted when she was this close – always so eager to touch him, almost like she was drawn to him every time they sat or stood near each other. Surely she didn’t mean anything by it, and yet he’d never seen her behave this way with anyone else, with Yennefer or Dandelion or Hjalmar. She touched him like it was the most natural thing in the world, and she didn’t even move off his lap when it had to become pretty damn obvious to her what effect her presence was having. Geralt only hoped she’d blame the beer and the waitress flirting with him rather than anything else, when at this point he probably would have had trouble remembering what the waitress’s face looked like.

“True,” Ciri said, and Geralt needed a moment to remember what the hell they’d been talking about. “But the point is that your judgement tends to be clouded when pretty women are involved, and because I would very much like to sleep in a bed while we deal with this ghost problem and not out in the woods, I’m stopping you from doing something stupid. Fair?”

“Fair,” Geralt gave in, because as usual Ciri had a point. It made travelling with her a little frustrating at times, how often she was _right_. He took another gulp of ale, as if that was in any way improving the situation rather than only making him feel warmer.

“Are you just going to stay there?” he asked when Ciri still didn’t move, apparently quite comfortable on his lap.

“I don’t want to have to play at jealousy again, so I think this makes for a better deterrent.” She looked up at him with a sly glimmer in her eyes – and then she squirmed in his lap, so suddenly that he couldn’t bite back a groan. She had noticed, of course, there was no way she couldn’t have noticed, and clearly she thought the whole thing was funny. Just something to tease him with, the way she’d teased him about the mayor’s daughter, or about his habit of talking to Roach, or about a dozen other harmless things. Even as his cock twitched with interest, Geralt was almost relieved – if she teased him about it, she wasn’t taking it seriously. She wasn’t assuming it was about _her_ so much as an instinctive physical reaction that didn’t mean anything at all.

It meant he was in for a long night, but it also meant he was still safe from anything worse than that. Safe from her ever looking at him differently, from her pulling away from him and not touching him as much as before, at worst from her deciding not to travel with him anymore if the realisation that he wanted her disgusted her too much.

She didn’t move from her spot in his lap for the next hour as they discussed their plans for the next days – who they needed to talk to, which tracks to follow, what they should work on together and for which parts they’d better split up. Ciri had her hand on his chest, her touch light enough that he barely felt it through the leather and mail of his armour, and yet he still knew it was there, still felt it burn through him like he’d downed a particularly potent potion to heighten his senses. He felt her touch burn through him everywhere their bodies touched, in far too many places, and he could barely smell the spilt beer and sweaty bodies inside the inn because his nose and mouth were filled with her scent, to the point where he could almost taste her on his tongue.

He shook his head to pull himself out of it, and when he looked down, Ciri was gazing back at him with wide, green eyes – that teasing twinkle in them was gone, but where Geralt now expected to find disappointment, disgust, shock, there was just a hungry intensity that made his stomach lurch. She didn’t look like she was joking and winding him up anymore, but like she knew exactly what was going through his mind – and like it didn’t bother her at all. Her hand slid up on his chest until her thumb brushed over his throat. Geralt’s skin prickled under the rough brush of her sword callouses, under the burning heat of her touch, the light pressure when she put her fingers lightly around his throat. It was gentle, not the least bit threatening, and Geralt still felt caught like a rabbit in a snare.

If she _knew_ , and it didn’t make her turn away from him, then he really didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do.

“It’s getting late,” Ciri said quietly, close enough that her breath was hot on Geralt’s lips. “We should really go to our room.”

“Our room,” Geralt echoed, because as best he remembered, he’d asked for two rooms when they’d arrived at the inn much, much earlier in the day. It didn’t feel anymore like it had only been a few hours ago.

“Of course. I had to clear up a little misunderstanding with the innkeeper earlier. He seemed to think we’d need two rooms, but then you would probably get up to something you shouldn’t, at least not until we’re done here,” she explained. Her throat moved when she swallowed, and it took all of Geralt’s restraint to keep himself from mirroring her touch and putting his hand on her neck. And she could tell he was looking, if that little smile on her face was anything to go by when she added, “Preferably not after either.”

“Right.” Geralt let out a deep groan and closed his eyes, and the last thing he saw when he did was a rather triumphant look on Ciri’s face. If he’d known what she was up to, if he’d realised it was more than a joke and game, he would have shooed her off his lap hours ago. He never would have let this go so far, and now … now it was far too late to deny the obvious, far too late to pretend that they both hadn’t realised things neither of them was meant to know.

It was going to be a very long night, and Geralt dreaded it far less than he thought he should have.


End file.
